Cane's phone lit up, a text message from his Father. It read: turn off your fucking lamp. He stared at the screen a moment before texting back: The lamp is off. He could practically see his father in the living room, lying firmly against the bottom couch cushions, barely breathing. Increasing warmth fell over Cane as the multiple placebo heat bags grew hotter, throwing off the effectiveness of a heat detector; all they needed to do, was stay still. Cane settled himself at the edge of his bed, stared at the wall, and sat motionless; it was nothing he hadn't done almost one hundred times before.
About five minutes into this, the sound of struggling metal broke through the silence. At first, he thought that it must be the wind; but the sound continued, lightly, but almost rhythmically. The low screech of the window sliding is what made him break the hardcore training he stuck to his whole life. In one swift movement, Cane snagged the glock that he kept for safe keeping from his nightstand, flipped off the safety, and spun around. He was surprisingly calm, keeping the gun steady of the shadow looming in front of the glass.
"You know, out of all the times I've heard of you and your padre getting away, I wonder how many times no one tried the window?"
Cane loaded the clip. "It'll be fun to watch you try climbing back out of it once I put a bullet through your skull."
"Yeesh Dean Winchester," the figure moved towards Cain slowly, "I come in peace." Cane shifted the gun in his hand and the figure stopped. "Don't move." Without taking his eyes off the shadow, he flipped on his lamp.
The person, dressed in all black, stood before him with their hands in the air. They stared at Cane through the eyeholes of their mask in the new found light.
"So you're really not packing?"
They shook their head, "No need."
Relaxing, Cane laughed slightly, setting the gun down on his covers.
"So what, they sent somebody my own age to appeal to me? Make me ripe for the picking?" Cane fell onto his bed, pulling a previously rolled joint out of his back pocket. He proceeded to light it as the random wannabe ninja lowered their hands, standing there quietly. Cane noticed the sudden silence. "It's medicinal," he explained between hits, "being around annoying cunts gives me anxiety."
A small laugh came from the masked figure. "Then you must be your own worst enemy." Cane flashed a smile, "Touché."
"I'm not sure why they sent me," they said, taking an assiduous look around Cane's rather plain room, "not now, after all this time. I'm honestly trying to figure out how they never got to you? I literally just climbed through a fuckin window-"
"Well now you're here, Cane exhaled the smoke, which was starting to fill his room with the strange aroma of Mazar , "so what do you have to say to me?"
"They need you." The person took a step back, sitting on the small window sill.
Cain shrugged, "They've always needed me."
"Okay, you cocky piece of shit; this time it's more important. I don't know why, but Chief has been riding my dick my whole way here."
"Okay, well," Cane took one last drag from the joint, and threw it in his watered down Taco Bell beverage. He moved the edge of the bed, swinging his long legs over, and rested his elbows on his thighs.
"Fuck your chief, fuck you, and ultimately," he said, leaning forward, "fuck the FBI."
"Listen," the figure sighed, "whatever misconceptions you have, I'm sure someone will be happy to clear them up-
"They killed my mother. What kind of government organizations kills one of their most trusted agents out of the blue?" Cane stroked his chin, his eyes narrowed.
"You know what, don't answer. "I don't know why and I don't know how but I don't want or need to so if you'll exit from which you came, that'd be great."
After a moment of hesitation, the FBI wannabe ninja kid nodded slowly. "I thought you'd refuse. But if you change your mind, come to this address. The person got up, slid a folded piece of paper onto Cane's dresser, and made their way back to the window. "Bring your valuables with you, and don't tell your Father. And let this be a warning that the next person who comes won't be asking. They want you and they won't stop." With those last words, the FBI ninja person was gone.
And little Cane Atwood was fucked.
His phone lit up again, another text message from his father a few minutes later: We should be good now, you can resume masturbating. Cane sighed, leaning against his headboard. With his arms behind his head, he stared at the ceiling; acting as if what just transpired, hadn't. And he did this until he was seeing stars.
~
Cane's father walked briskly down the hallway and in front of his son's door; the sun had not yet risen and it was dark in the small apartment hallway. He tried twisting the door knob, but he already knew it'd be locked. With a fist, he pounded on the door.
"Rise and shine sleeping beauty."
On the other side of it, Cane put his head under his pillow. Gabriel Atwood picked the lock, and invited himself into Cane's room.
"Get up son! It's graduation day! He hit Cane's leg, trying to wake him up.
"The fuck?" He lashed out with the leg, missing his father's thigh by a hair, "That was yesterday."
"Oh," he thought for a moment; a silence that Cane almost mistook by regret or even guilt. "Well," Gabriel thought, "That's perfect, we can head out early."
Cane was wrong. He took his head from underneath the pillow. "Excuse me?"
"They know where we are. You know the drill, we have to move."
Cane sat up. "You're not serious?"
"Yes I'm serious," Gabe urged, "Everything's already packed but your things. "So the quicker you get all your stuff together the quicker we can head out." Gabriel started to leave, but stopped once he noticed that his son wasn't making haste.
"Now Cane, now," he insisted.
But Cane, wasn't feelin it. For graduation sparked some kind of fire in him, and the immediate idea of being free kept him still, denying his Father's urges.
"Gabriel," he started, folding his hands in his lap, "as you know I will be turning 18 in two days, and I've just graduated high school.
With his chest rising and falling quickly, Gabriel stared impatiently at his son. "Cane, we don't have time for this; get up."
"I think it's time we part ways Gabriel."
Gabe folded his arms against his chest, "you're joking right now. I didn't know I raised a comedian."
"You didn't," Cane smiled, shaking his head. "I don't want to do this anymore; the constant running and having to watch my back, all of it, I'm tired. Something has to change."
Gabe couldn't help but chuckle. He contemplated for a moment, rubbing his temples. "And what? You think all of this is going to magically stop once you're on your own?"
Cane shrugged, "I don't know. Maybe I'll join the army, get deployed overseas, and then disappear. I think I'll become a little less important if they think I'm dead or missing."
"You don't know as much as I know Cane," Gabriel warned, "You don't know how to cover your steps and live a normal life like I do."
"Considering that I've lived in more than 10 states and have gone to over 15 different schools I'd say you're not so great at it either."
Without any kind of indication he was going to do so, Gabriel slammed his fist into Cane's door. Cane blinked as his Father regained his sanity.
"You good fam?"
Gabriel side eyed him, and then nodded slowly. "You wanna be "free" from me, huh? Fine. I'll tell you what, you get a free pass, but just one. Just once can you call me when you realize that you messed up when you find yourself in trouble or on the streets? But then after that; if you still wanna be "free"; don't you ever call me again." Gabe ran his fingers over his raw knuckles, avoiding Cane's eyes. "Good luck on your own, son; you're going to need it."
Cane didn't say anything as his father backed into the hallway, and disappeared. He didn't actually believe him until he heard the truck engine come to life outside, and slowly fade. He rolled over, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes to check the time on his phone. 6:05 blared in neat white font on the bright screen. "Jesus Christ." His voice sounded small in the empty apartment. He felt small. Cane started to question if everything that'd happened in the last 7 hours was even real. Maybe there was something in his chalpua that could induce vivid dreams. He needed a reality check. Cane swung his legs over to the side of his bed, shaking his head clear of the vertigo that hit him as he made his way to the small dresser that came furnished with the apartment. He patted in the darkness, his hand making waves in the dust that settled atop of it. Then, he felt it; the small folded paper that the ninja FBI person had left last night.
It was official; Cane was awake. The hair's on the back of his neck prickled as he shuffled over to his lamp, switching on the light to read the message. All it had was an address, and a time:
6:30am
Corner of East Arapahoe Road and South Peoria St.